'i'm going insane,' dena says, the last gasp of a whiskey and coke singeing the air.
i can't hardly be surprised. she's the same kind of dangerous as me - that's how she ended up in my bed. the desperation of it would bring me to tears if i weren't drunk. there's a tanline around the base of her ring finger. i didn't want to ask, but as long as she's being introspective.. i gently pick her hand up by that finger, raise it close to her face where the whiteness shines in the clean-washed moonlight.
she looks at me, half smiling, half grimacing. then she rolls over onto her side, reaching into the foreign purse on my nightstand. she holds up an unadorned wedding band and resignedly slips it on.
'i've been married about two years. a man.' she looks at me apologetically, trailing her fingers against my thigh.
'so you're not.. ?'
'no.'
'and tonight was your first time.. ?'
'yes.'
normally, i might be insulted. i have philisophical issues with picking up 'bi-curious' frat girls. but as i said, i'm drunk. and she's clearly more trouble than just that.
i guess she catches me glaring at the ceiling.
'look, i'm sorry. you didn't exactly seem to be looking for anything eternal.. i figured, you know, i'd just walk out like nothing happened.'
'yeah, i'm not. looking for a girlfriend. i just don't wanna be some juvenile husband's letter to penthouse forum. know what i mean?'
'it's not like that.' she lifts herself up on her elbows, bending over me, immediately concerned. i shift so that she's looking down at the back of my shoulder.
'we've really got nothing to say to each other lately. me and dave - that's his name. i don't know.. we're like, different people.'
the words shoot out before i can reign them in. 'do you love him?'
'i.. no. not who he is now. i used to.'
'what happened?'
dena laughs hard, little barks. it's eerie. 'well gee, angie, that's kind of a complex question.' then she sobers, straightens. 'i got pregnant.'
she falls back into the pillow and i watch the stretch marks on her breasts straighten and bend in a huge, involved sigh.
'i was young. i mean, obviously.. in college. never wanted kids, absolutely never wanted to be married. and so close to graduation. i had all these fantasies of all the things i was going to do, now that i'd have a degree and couldn't fuck my life up too much.
'dave and i, we were seeing each other, and i loved him. we fought, but it was petty stuff. both of us were really stubborn. and then my period was late.
'we weren't anywhere close to ready. immature, unstable. we had things we still wanted to do. he had two more years to go in school, and he wanted to go to grad school after that. my plan was just not to live hand-to-mouth anymore. i was going to get a good job, find a place to live for a few years, save some money.. and then find out where i wanted to go, once my options were really open.'
she reaches into her purse again, and her eyes don't follow her hand. she pulls out a pack of cigarettes, full, and runs the very tip of her finger around the perfect white circle tips, making a chain of conjoined infinity symbols. i dig for my lighter and offer it, but she waves it away.
'i thought about killing myself a lot. reality was like this monster menacing me outside my window at night, and i wanted to hide under the blankets. i tried to be positive, but i'd end up having the same naive daydreams i used to have when i was a teenager, about taking my baby to punk rock shows and raising an ideal human being. stupid stuff. then i'd coming crashing back down, remember that i was going to have to have a baby, then turn right around and support three of us.
'since i was the one with the degree, we decided it would be really easy for me to get a good job, make enough for us to live off of. stupid. i ended up doing shit work, customer service, for $20 thousand a year. we applied for welfare. dave had to get a temp job, in the evening. it still wasn't working. it's not now, either. we moved out of the city, cause we thought if we could live cheaper.. but now it's harder for dave to get work. it's like a nightmare. sailor - my son,' she looks at me guiltily, 'neither of us ever really sees him. i'm a shitty mom. god. i'm terrible.'
it's not that i don't have sympathy for her, i do. but i have to get her out of my apartment. i don't like other peoples' problems. like everyone else, i have my own. she's crying now, of course, not sobbing but almost whispering out tears. lumpy mascara waterfalls are forming on her cheeks.
i lay my hand on her shoulder, trying to be gentle, supportive, and all that other stuff you're supposed to be when someone is falling apart in front of you.
'dena.' i try to say it softly, but my voice cracks and the syllables come out terse. i clear my throat. 'what else can you do, huh? it's ok. i'm sure you're a great mom.'
she sniffles, looking up at me. it occurs to me that she's at least five year younger than i am, a scary thought. she looked old, until i actually saw her eyes. she has a kind of lapsed beauty, pocked cellulite hanging dejectedly from the frame of what could be a good figure. clean but dull hair, with sprouts of grey even now. ugly stained teeth, worrier's cuticles.
'i'm sorry, baby, but,' courage.. 'i have to go to work tomorrow.' i am a shit.
she wipes the makeup from her cheeks and it's like the tears never happened. 'yeah, i understand. me too.' she favors me with a perfect cold saccharine smile, lips pressed tight. whatever she let me see in her eyes fades quickly, a concealing cold front wiping out the evidence.
it's stunning, how quickly she's up and dressed.
she walks straight to the door, then turns, letting light from the hall wedge its way in. 'don't think i do this all the time.' her voice is slow and soft. and haughty. 'i'm still strong. it's just that now it doesn't matter.
'it was lovely. 'night.' she lets the door slam. |
